


War's No Place for Soft Hearts

by Kara_J



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-10-20 18:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20680070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kara_J/pseuds/Kara_J
Summary: The second war is near, Markus knows it, feels it in his heart, sees it in his dreams: Humans returning to Detroit to reclaim the space as exclusively theirs again.  Perhaps they shouldn’t have raised their guns so, shot at the very people they were supposed to make peace with.  There could’ve been a better way.He also knows that Connor still isn't completely deviant.  There are strands of instructional code that still remain, despite that he's been swayed onto their side.  It isn't fair that he isn't truly living like the others, yet at the same time, his machine-like calculations for their fight have exceeded beyond satisfaction.  It's about time he completely freed him already... or is it?





	1. Chapter 1

The second war is near, Markus knows it, feels it in his heart, sees it in his dreams: Humans returning to Detroit to reclaim the space as exclusively theirs again. Perhaps they shouldn’t have raised their guns so, shot at the very people they were supposed to make peace with. There could’ve been a better way. 

But alas, it’s too late; what’s done is done. So for now, Detroit is the city of deviants. 

Once all the humans fled, whether by fear or by government instruction, they began a slow come back, started building barriers built outside the city’s limits in obvious purpose to fight back eventually. Walls with holes just big enough for guns and slits narrow enough to see through, trenches to dive into so gunfire can’t reach. Everyday the threat grows bigger and bigger, narrowing the quiet time they have inside here more and more until one day, they’ll have to face the battle, for their land, for their lives. 

It’s mostly Markus’ fault when it boils down to the why and how, and the consequences he should have seen before declaring war, consequences they must live by every day they work to uphold their temporarily obtained space of peace. But it was for his people, and that’s something he’ll still always be grateful for. It won’t be quiet for long, though. Androids are gravely underestimated by the humans, but then again, the androids misjudge the human’s violent history and their common retreat back to it. 

However, on the other hand, deviants, have the far better advantage in comparison. 

Thanks to the gifts of technology, their intellectual community has methods of accessing news feeds and crossing human military communication to find out exactly what their new found foes are up to. And tapping into it all is so seamless - no traces remain of their infiltration when hacking is so easy to do with a simple touch of the palm. Deviants have honed technical and mechanical abilities that offer an unmatched perfection that flesh and bone cannot achieve. 

Ultimately, the very plastic beings humans made will only be their downfall.

It’s funny how even the _one _model that was supposed to help humans against the movement even turned to Jericho, too, though the task proved more difficult than Markus thought. Typically a simple transfer of communication worked for all the others, whether remotely by eye contact or physically by touch. Connor, though... would he have still gained his trust had they met earlier? Had Connor not simmered over his experiences in life prior, would Markus be just as successful? It’s a question he carries in his mind. _Just what had the detective gone through that made him question his purpose_? No matter, he’s under their roof now. That’s all that counts. 

With the ex-deviant hunter on their team, they’ve acquired a connection to some of the top-notch technology Cyberlife has to offer, having hacked it’s system for access to supplies, knowledge, and the thousands of other androids who’s willingly joined their fight. Even Connor’s calculated predictions thus far that has proven some of the most accurate statistics that, well.... puts the androids at an unforeseen advantage.

Connor _alone _is twenty-five percent of their strength.

But neither is he truly free. 

It nags at Markus’ heart how he’d merely only managed to turn Connor's mission around for the benefit of a different crowd. Not _every_ strand of the detective’s programmed code has given way. An arranged meeting between Connor and Lucy was all that he needed to confirm the suspicion that something was off. Of anyone here, she’s one of the most keen minds capable of quietly digging into Connor’s emotional being, just like she had on Jericho. 

And even to her conclusion, he’s still partially lost. 

Cyberlife really surpassed themselves when they created Connor. Cold, calculated, precise, almost immune to RA9’s conversion, and definitely not afraid to lift a gunbarrel to anyone’s face when the demand rises for the sake of success, no regrets nor offense taken. He’s just fulfilling his new duty to Jericho. Yet too perfect to be _human _yet. It’s what makes him so good at what he does, producing results that Markus couldn’t add up by himself.

For the hundredth time, Markus mulls over the thoughts, eyes blankly staring at the drawn battle plan Connor proposed so confidently. It’s all laid out perfect, not a single position left defenseless to attack. With this impenetrable ploy, they’re guaranteed a win to keep their sanctuary. He’s constructed a mechanically flawless plan.

However, taking advantage of it all feels so _morally wrong_. Why can’t Markus just… open Connor’s eyes already? The man is already fighting by their side, fulfilling missions for the rise of deviants, but he’s missing out on so much that makes life _beautiful _beyond following instruction. It’s been too, too long as days, weeks… months pass by and Connor still doesn’t know how it is to _feel _like the others do. 

_It’s just not fair._

Markus’ heart can’t bear the denial nor lies anymore. In steel resolve, he stands up from the cushioned chair, stern before the desk. Today’s the day that another true deviant joins the community. He exits the quiet office, and in full, confident stride, makes way down a few hallways till he reaches the defense wing, exactly where he knows Connor will be. 

The area resembles that of a police station. Of course that’s how it would be laid out; the design wasn’t created without purpose. With a few holding cells, conference rooms, and executive desks, Connor has his own crew to maintain. They work together so well, and despite his mechanical, logical ways, everyone under his command both admires and loves working for him. 

In an enclosed office in the far right corner, Connor works diligently, zoned in on his task. Staring through the clean, glass walls, Markus watches as he swaps between the computer and a stack of papers on his right.

Eyes opened to true life or not, there’s no doubt that Connor is the best man for the job. With his critical thinking skills and ability to predict both prior and possible future events, no other would be as efficient in something so crucial: another reason Markus reluctantly held back for so long. His emotions and heart doesn’t get in the way of seeing the big picture or the smaller, equally necessary steps to achieve it…

...but that’s no excuse why Connor shouldn’t live as freely as they do. That very dedication he exemplifies is the same that drive that will make the man sacrifice himself for the greater good, as if his life isn’t just as valuable. That’s a loss Markus refuses to face, and that’s why he must do this!

With a soft knock on the door, Markus steps quietly inside.

“Markus,” Connor starts first, offering a polite smile of acknowledgement. “Just the one I’m looking for. I’ve been evaluating our members, and established the most compatible pairings for optimal performance at each station, based on observation and skill sets.” Sure enough, as the leader leans over the desk and peers over the notes, Connor’s pegged each and every one of their strong suits. They both know their people well. Each corner of the previously submitted map Markus was just grazing over is covered by the best man available, layered next with a strong back up regimen.

But that’s not what Markus is here to discuss.

With a deep breath, he reminds himself, _he can do this_. He’s done it at least a hundred times before, even with just a point of a finger. Connor’s no different, still lost, still a machine, and it needs to change, now. 

“Connor, have you ever felt something in your heart you wanted to express so bad, even if was the most illogical thought you could possibly have?”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at. Although my social interaction protocols certainly help when a situation requires a more… emotional approach.”

“That’s….” Markus pauses. Of course, he should’ve expected a mechanical answer. Connor’s more resistant than the others. “...Not quite what I’m talking about. Connor, there’s more to life than planning statistical actions for war. What will you do when all is said and done, and we’ve won?”

“I…” It’s Connor’s turn to fall silent. 

Markus looks sternly at his chief of defense, matching eye contact when he can between the wandering gaze drifting across the room as Connor internally debates. 

Finally brown eyes seek heterochromia ones again, steady in the next words to come. “I will continue serving deviants as requested.”

“Well, yes, that’s what we all do. But what will you do for _yourself_, though? There must be something or someone you want in your life. You don’t have to live for the mission alone.” 

His partner falls silent, processing the words as Markus speaks. It’s like they’re back on Jericho again, in the same captain’s cabin, only this time, Connor isn't aiming a gun at him. He sits in his chair, lost at words. 

So Markus continues. “When all is peaceful and safe, and there’s nothing to _fight _for, you’ll be free to do anything you want. Free to be _you_.”

Connor takes to the first thing he knows, predicting, calculating, determining each potential outcome on paper as he scribbles one plan, rips it out and tosses it, scribbles another, tosses it too, followed by another, another, another… With a flustered sigh, he leans his runs long fingers through dark hair and kneels down on elbows-to-desk, genuinely confused about how to respond. He’s searching for a programmed answer that’s not going to exist.

“I’m…” Connor starts, but the words from his mouth next come out broken, stuttered, a conflict of program verses potential. RK800. Cyberlife. Detective. Police. He’s listing all the things he knows _now_, not all the things he _could be_. The dilemma overcomes Connor’s confidence when he was so _sure _before, set in his goals with a plan to go forward, but now he’s a baffled mess, completely lost sight on the accomplishment and results he’d created. 

Maybe this was a mistake. In this mental state, Connor’s definitely not ready for anything they’re about to face anymore. It’s too close to the war, to the blood shed that’s bound to happen at any moment. In this semi-emotional mess, they’ll falter, _he’ll _falter in everything he’s designed. Is this version of Connor worth losses at the front line? 

Regretfully, Markus knows he missed the prime moment to open Connor’s eyes without realizing it, and there’s only one way to fix it right now without tumbling everything they’ve built for the upcoming fight. They need Connor’s mind right now, not a slowly-distraught heart. Virgin to grief, loss, pain, and regret, he can’t help but to wonder what it would be like to “wake up” right before they’re about to storm into uncertain death. A fate like that is an unfortunate, mentally scarring memory, a pain he does not wish on Connor to wear in the new world to come. 

War is no place for soft hearts. They still need Connor’s set, logical mind when so many others are sacrificing what they cherish dearly within their souls, burdens of loss that Connor doesn’t have to deal with right now as the fight for their future beckons. When they survive this, they'll have more time to hash out the emotional aspects without violent interruption. 

“I suppose what I meant was, let’s take a look at how to get through this so we can plan for the next phase.”


	2. The Butterfly Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when the war is going exactly as planned, the price of Markus' decision comes into fruition... and it's nothing like he expected it to turn out.

It’s happening too soon. Markus despises it, but he ignorantly brought it upon them in hasty decision, so now he has to finish it. The humans won’t listen any other way. Since the first declaration of war was made, Detroit became abandoned of all flesh and bone. North was right- and wrong- at the same time. But something had to be done, or they would have all died by now, whether by getting disassembled or abuse.

The fight around them is nothing he wished upon human and android. Puddles of blue and red spread slowly across the streets that used to separate them, scattered with limbs barely seen in the steam and smoke from firing guns, and bullet chambers wasted to end lives that didn’t have to be vanquished. Explosions pop in their ears and cries shrill into the air as bodies fall, some mechanical, some flesh. 

But it’s almost finished and luck is on the deviants’ side; they’ve stayed on the winning edge. Soon, when it’s all over, Markus can bow and pray for forgiveness from the violent fate he’d led them into. Each life lost is another minute he’ll have to spend begging Ra9 for validation of his choices.

The humans retreat back to where they came from, inch by inch, forced against an impending loss they should have accepted long ago. They know the androids have the upper hand as told by their suddenly-more-cautious attacks versus the head-on collision they’d tried in the beginning (which became an utter disaster for both sides).

Each time one from the human force attempts to rush into Markus space in hope to gain an advantage, it’s easy to deter them. With swift movement, faster than muscle can go, his opponent is immediately unarmed as he ducks under their range and pulls their weapon out of hand. A quick aim back has their own weapons turned against them before they can land a fist into something that will hurt a lot less than the bullet running through their fragile body. Although red splotches and splatters across their plastic faces aren’t decorations to be proud of. Still, Markus must remind himself: kill or be killed.

As the fight continues, each station remains intact and humans are slowly caving more and more into accepting loss. There’s no chance of the androids losing the war at this rate. They just have to keep advancing forward, forcing the humans to retreat back to where they came from. In fact, they've almost given up, backing out of considerable range in intimidation. 

Everything is going according to plan. One more push should do it.

Connor stops, suddenly dead in their winning trek. He sidetracks, taking slow, shaky steps toward one of the bleeding bodies in particular, eyes locked on it’s face . It’s difficult to tell what’s going through his mind as Connor stops in front of it, staring below. Given his previous job, he should be used to these things already, right? What makes this body so different from the rest spread around them? 

They need to move forward to finish this once and for all, but they can’t go on without him. They’re a unit, going forward as one in an overcoming force, and Markus will _not _leave Connor behind. 

Something in the air shatters: a feeling, a hint of something so familiar, almost as if Markus was suddenly back in the studio, watching Carl die before his eyes for the second time. Markus sucks in a sharp breath, questioning life why the memory returns now, of all times. Carl was a father to him, a guide, and without the old man there, he would have never found his way! The pain of loss strikes his heart like a dagger, weighing down on the confidence of their purpose on this field, even though the event took place long ago. He needs to come back to _now_, to serve his people when they need him most!

Only, it’s hard when _Connor’s _the one acting it out before his eyes. It should serve as a mournful reminder of the very reason they fight, but something about the shift in Connor’s aura, and the way he hesitates to continue on catches Markus’ attention. There’s something different about him as he hovers speechlessly over the deceased human, something less mechanically inclined. 

That’s when a foreign, desperate sound escapes from Connor as he falls to his knees at the corpse. Connor looks and sounds so fragile, he might break to the touch. His shaking body and the way he looks frantically at the man on the ground, hands hovering in disbelief and shock as if not to hurt him anymore than the red-stained wounds in his torso has.

A choked cry transforms into an entire break down as he shakes the unresponsive man lying on the ground, tears, desperation, and all. “Hank!” Connor cries, letting his body fall limp on the dead man’s chest, beating on it with a closed fist as his tears soak the man’s shirt. “No, no, no, _no, no_!! Why? Why are you out here?!” 

Markus’ first inclination is to hug him, then gently remind him where he’s at and the danger ahead of them, but this moment is untouchable. Or so it was for Markus when his father figure passed. He knows from experience you don’t drag a man away from saying goodbye to someone they love. His heart breaks for Connor, wishing there was more that could be done. 

Even now, all along during this battle, it’s been his resolve to be strong for his people, trying to push the mourning to the back burner until it’s all done. That’s what they need: a rock to lean on and follow, even if it means bypassing his own tears to console theirs. That’s how it’s always been. But watching Connor learn this grief for the first time… It tears his heart apart that it has to be like this. 

Connor, the one by his side who’s always been resilient through hard times, never burdened by emotional pain. The one who’s never expressed any needs or wants aside from his mission. Connor never knew it, but deep down inside, he’s been Markus’ strength in return when emotion overrides duty.

If only he’d made a different choice, maybe they wouldn’t be out here, losing people dear to them. Maybe loss wouldn’t have been the first thing Connor woke up to. The guilt sets in further when Connor sits back up, pleading takes over. 

“Please….. Say something! Anything!” Still the gray haired man doesn’t respond, but Connor continues anyway, pressing through the tears falling down his face as if deaf ears weren’t upon him. “You should have been home! Listening to Jazz with Sumo, and… and Cole…” Something about the way his words trailed off at the name ‘Cole’ indicates something Markus knows nothing about. 

The silence, the drop in his shoulders: it’s an unforeseen, clear, and complete acceptance of the disappointment of reality in the most human way Markus has ever seen him act. There’s no going back to the way things were now. No sacrifice can reset it.

“…Connor…” Markus starts as he approaches the torn man. “I’m so sorry.” When he reaches a hand forward to pat Connor’s shoulder, Connor slaps it away with a quick backhand, refusing to meet his gaze. Maybe Connor is the type of deviant who doesn’t like being touched when he’s upset. Or maybe he just doesn’t want Markus to see him cry, afraid of what others will think.

So Markus, steps back to give the man some space for the moment. He doesn’t want to drag Connor away, but eminent danger, and weakness, is upon them when neither budge in the process of mentally soaking it all in. The longer they wait, the worse it will be. Every second that passes becomes more and more ominous for their future, and they’ll eventually start losing their chance at defeating the humans even now when Connor is so consumed in this brand new feeling. 

“Connor, I know it hurts, but there are more lives at stake. Our people are waiting for us. The humans are going to strike again soon.”

As Connor stands back up, he pivots around to face Markus once more, wiping one last tear away. Replacing it is a deadly glare on his expression, a silent bullet meant just for him. For the first time, _at the worst time_, Connor now knows anger, and has no idea who or what to aim it at. It’s a whirlwind of new discovery.

Markus knows this look too well; he wore it when Carl died innocently. Loss, regret, revenge… all too fast, too soon. To this day, he still wonders what it would have been like had they not pursued the mystery happening in that art room, if Carl would have been alive still should hey have let the paintings get stolen. That man was everything to him, somebody he would have _killed _for. Maybe it’s the same way for Connor now.

But that is not the humane way to handle such distress (despite them being in the middle of a war). At this intensity, Connor alone could ravage half the field apart; what would such uncontrollable rage cost? The deviant leader wants to shake some sense into his commander, urge him to let go for now and handle this brand new outlet later. This isn’t the time or place to unwrap such a dangerous package. But at least they are safe for now since the humans, who had stopped shooting long ago, are now immensely intrigued by the cinematic reaction happening before their eyes.

His friend isn’t finished, though. “In my office, when I told you about our plans, you started leading me to something… Why didn’t you finish?” His voice is calm, but his appearance communicates something completely different: fists gripped tightly closed, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed and zoomed in judgemental anticipation, and the usual twinkle in his eyes are gone. 

There’s no response Markus can offer without stoking the flames even more. It wasn’t the right time? You weren’t ready for the truth? Or was there ever going to be a ‘right time’? _Would Connor even believe him where they stand now in this freshly awakened state of mind?_ Everything about Connor’s composure, it’s all happening entirely different than he’d plotted for. And now he stands, quiet and baffled on how to handle this new version of Connor who’s just witnessed one of the worst things he could wake up to.

“_WHY DIDN’T YOU FINISH_?!” Connor’s voice booms even louder as he steps closer to Markus, earning a gasp from the armed spectators on both sides. 

It’s all going so _so _wrong! This kind of anger consumes, misleads, and makes people do and say things they don’t mean , things they regret later. Connor’s always been calm and collected, never overreacting to anything, but this rude welcome into deviancy is exactly opposite of what Markus intended.

“Isn’t there something or someone you want to live for?” Connor mimics in a mockery pitch with his head tilted to the side when Markus is at a loss of words. With an ironic scoff and a satire smile, he continues, “you remember asking me that? I never understood the meaning to that question till now.” His smile falls, unamused. “Well the answer is yes… And now he’s _fucking dead_! And for what? Some war you used me for?!” Connor gives Markus an icy stare and a strong shove, forcing him away past reaching distance.

Connor’s wrong! He’s mistaking it all in this sudden confusion of fresh, new emotions! Never had it been his intent to use him; in fact, he was going to free him as soon as it was over so it wasn’t such a hard impact at such a crucial time. Fate had plans for otherwise, and suddenly the feeling of control over this entire situation flees from Markus’ grasp. It’s spiraling into a place he doesn’t want to be. Everything they’ve worked so hard, for so long, may even vanish: their dreams, their lives, their freedom. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I just wanted to protect our people, protect _you_! I know the loss hurts, but I can help you through this!”

Connor’s silence answers well enough as he turns back around, kneels down, and pulls a badge from one of Hank’s pockets. When he rises back up, he stashes the memento away in his jacket, back still turned Markus’ way. “You've done enough. You may have started this war, but _we’re _about to finish it.” The words come out in a stern determination, but at least they’re somewhat assuring. Not all hope is lost. 

Of course they’re going to finish this. Together. Maybe then Connor will realize that none of this was supposed to turn out like it did. Humanity is unpredictable and Connor just received the worst end of it, an unsettling first impression. Sure, the dynamics of their relationship is going to be vastly different; it will take time to build everything back up, mainly the trust (which is what hurts the most about this entire predicament), but they can hash it out when the fighting is over and they’ve returned home safely. 

Connor seems to suddenly have changed his plans as he lets his gun fall to the ground and quietly walks to where the humans wait, weapons up, cocked, and aimed just incase. But it does not phase him, even when he’s unarmed in comparison, naked of any defense, save for his fists. Every step lands him closer to death, a sacrifice much like the one Markus made on their march down the street. One movement forward from the android army, and Connor’s dead. One shot from the humans, and Connor is still dead. 

But not a single soul fires their weapon, even when Connor’s inches away from the human force, facing the one with “Perkins” embroidered on green and brown uniform. 

Markus’ heart races even faster when the two simply stand still, eyes locked on each other as if time is nothing. He silently swears through gritted teeth that if “Perkins” lays a single hand on Connor, he’s going to rampage. In the wait, time drags as he’s left behind in the mystery of his friend’s fate, all while having absolutely no control compared to the advantage they had _before _Connor woke up. 

Finding a spot by Perkins’ side, Connor turns around to look back at the deviant force, and folds untrusting arms in front of his chest with nothing more to say. That pleasant smile he wore in Detroit is long gone, replaced by an icy stare that could kill. 

Everything about this moment is a cold dagger, staked right through Markus heart. The message sends chills down Markus’ back and Connor’s new human comrade wears a smug grin that doesn’t help, either. In fact, it’s more of a taunt, as if the humans have won already. 

Disbelief settles in as Markus soaks in the harsh truth of what just happened. If only Connor would trust him! They would have overcome the war by now and had time to help him manage these foreign feelings! The humans will use him, abuse him for all the rage and revenge in his heart! Hope begs it all to be a dream, that just maybe he could close his eyes and be back in Detroit with his friends, his comrades, with Connor again, and this time, actually finish what he’d started that day in the office. Instead, fate presents and omen.

They were supposed to collaborate, move forward _together_, and win to keep their freedom! Now the human force has become stronger in one unplanned move, a completely ironic fate that _never _dawned upon their calculations. The deviants’ chances have dropped when Markus knows what Connor is capable of. 

In one last attempt, Markus beckons Connor one more time, loud and determined. “Connor! Listen to your logic! I know you’re angry, but going with those men will only-”

His now-ex-partner refuses to hear it, though. Before Markus can continue, Connor sharply breaks off eye contact, connecting this time with Perkins. A small nod is all it takes to notion that it’s time to leave, and the agent complies, commanding his army in return. Just like that, the sound of their marches and rattling guns and armor slowly dissipate from the air and they’re gone.

A wave of regret washes over Markus heart, weighing it down when he lets the truth of reality sink in. The butterfly effect had taken effect long ago: one small hesitation in detroit grew into one significantly larger misunderstanding. 

They were supposed to win, and Markus let his crew down, let himself down, but most of all, let Connor down. Nothing can give back what the hell of war stole from his friend. 


	3. In the Eye of the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are lots of changes going on through Detroit after Connor walked away. But there's also a lot of doubt that comes with them.

The transmission interceptions stopped working since their return from battle. Connor knew what he was doing for the deviants, coding their system so they could listen in on the humans. And now he damned well knows what he’s doing for the humans in return now that he’s walked away from Detroit, city of androids, and it’s putting Markus’ people at risk. No more insight. No more intel from the other side. He’s tried to tune the radio himself, but the system Connor set them up with was good… _too _good. 

With a small slam, the deviant leader shuts the radio off. It’s no good to even try anymore, never will be again. He may as well throw the damned thing away. Without access to human communications, they’re going to have to plan for the unexpected on any given day, at any given degree. Detroit is at a potential loss if they’re not careful enough with even the smallest measures.

Many gazes flicker day to day to the gate that separates them from their newly-advantaged enemy and paranoid eyes glance back at each other in return, exchanging silent questions of loyalty. It’s not said, but everyone knows the doubt’s there. Every now and then, Markus has to resolve the minor arguments of accusation between android citizens, small misinterpreted notions that mean nothing in comparison to the big picture; they’ve lost focus of their true goals. Never has Detroit dealt with so much internal disagreement. 

Rumors spread throughout town that maybe… just _maybe _Connor was bound to betray them the whole time. But Markus knows better than to believe the gossip. No one worked with the man as close as he did. The way he froze on that field, broke down over one dead man, and the twisted curves upon Connor’s lips when anger instinctively took over, unsure where to send its flames… 

The thought makes Markus’ heart beat faster. He’s so, _so _angry, at Connor… and at himself. There’s no one party at fault here, just really, really bad circumstance that should’ve never occurred, events that could’ve been prevented had the possibility been considered. His tight fist releases, gentle once more in acceptance of their unexpected outcome as he exhales a long-held breath. 

Not only has Connor’s abandonment hurt them on the outside; it’s also affected them from the inside.

The entire layout they’ve built up till now is going to have to change. Connor knows them well since he was the one who designed them and will likely break through the defense line with ease. The humans are certainly greedy enough to take advantage of the knowledge. Hell, Markus would too if he were in their position. Like Connor, a fellow RK model, Markus was _also _built to achieve success by any means, so it’s easy to think in the same manner. 

_Maybe that’s another reason he and Connor worked things out so well together before._

No, it’s time to get back to business, no more moping! Everything he needs to access is in the defense wing. 

When Markus reaches his destination at the defense center, he can’t stop himself from pausing at a familiar office. The windows and door are still shattered from the riot within New Jericho’s walls. It was challenging enough to spray over the graffiti that decorated the room’s walls: “Be gone, spy”, “You were never one of us”, “Once a hunter, always a hunter”. He remembers exactly where every letter was spelled underneath the fresh layer of red paint, embedding further into his silent guilt. 

When Markus’ hand grazes the doorknob, North rounds the corner, stopping awkwardly in her path as they cross silent greetings. She balances five hefty totes of supplies. Knowing her, it’s probably in determination to transfer everything in one trip. That’s one thing he’ll never be able to change about the new officer in command: her sheer independence. 

“Wasn’t expecting you so early, Markus. I haven’t even decorated yet,” she starts, an icebreaker to the new position. Her braid whips around as she gives a quick, presumptuous nod his way. 

Heterochromia eyes fly to the wavering stack rising high above North’s head. “Need some help with that?” 

North smirks, intrepid as always. A scoff gives way as she replies, “_Please!_ I’ve got this!” Although she doesn’t. There’s a sway to her step she’ll never admit to. That’s one thing Connor wasn’t: adamantly independent to a fault. 

However, North has her qualities too, and Markus’ faith in her is equally trustworthy. She’s created to lead with her headstrong will and her iron foot surely won’t let up easily for blind foolishness. Her determination will pay off in the end. 

Without asking, Markus opens the door anyway, politely stepping to the side to make room for her to slide through before him. 

With a slam on the brand new chrome topped desk (the investment seems more like a chunk out of their budget than it does a “beneficial factor” as she insisted), the boxes almost tip over, but she balances them before they can topple. As North takes one after another off the stack, she eyes the room, evaluating a fitting decoration. Knowing her, it’s about to go from modern to _queen-on-fire_! She’s even brought her diamond-studded gold crown.

“By the time I’m done with this, that punk’s mark on Jericho will be gone.” There’s a sour tone on her tongue as she speaks that Markus knows he can’t heal right away, no matter how hard it is to listen to. He just hopes her fury doesn’t consume her. 

“So, what’s our plan, then?” Markus inquires, a vague attempt to change the subject. There’s going to be something up her sleeve, _guaranteed_.

North looks Markus in the eye, determination all over her gaze in a silent split second before she speaks again. This isn’t anger, its sheer will when a knowing smirk lands on her expression again. “We fight fire with fire!”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Weeks later, the proclaimed fire of war has yet to burn. North keeps urging him to just march right in, but it’s too much of a risk. That’s what the humans will _want_. Every time she pushes, Markus has managed to talk her out of it, although her concept for the field layout is brutal enough to fend off even wild beasts. 

That’s not Markus’ only motive, though. He dares not speak it out loud, lest someone lash out, but in passive effort, maybe he can prove to Connor in their distance that none of it was meant to happen. If the androids don’t take to the second battle immediately, will it lower the hostile intents to the newly deviant’s eyes? He hopes it’s working, or so he tells himself when each day becomes quieter and quieter. 

Not that it erases any regret anyway. Every day that passes, Markus stops by Connor’s old residence in New Jericho. Preserving it becomes one of his daily goals. Maybe when, _if_, his friend comes back, it can prove as one of the many small ways to express the cherished connection Connor was so blinded from in his suddenly onslaught grief. 

Additionally, Markus assigns a crew to alter the defense stations outside, adding a few features to amp up their effect per North’s suggestions. Passive has been good, but being prepared is a real necessity as well. 

Ready to retire for the evening, Markus' mind is entirely too bombarded with doubts, hopes, and the numb void in between the confusing mess of thoughts. He exits his station and makes way to New Jericho’s main hall where most of the greetings and small talk ensues. It looks like a few others are ready to turn in as well, bags and coats stashed over their arms. He can’t blame them; it's been a long day. It’s just nice to finally see a hint of a smile on their faces and hear a sense of confidence as they exchange relieved words. 

_Slowly, but surely, a sense of security is returning to the community._

Tired from the day’s worry, Markus doesn’t concern over his usual hand shaking and farewell pleasantries. Home is the only thing he craves. The nostalgic and exotic decorations of Carl’s mansion are a comfort, almost as if they understand everything he’s been through in a sense that nobody else can. 

He's almost at the door when a boom echoes throughout the air and everything around them rattles. It shakes every floor they could possibly try to steady their feet to. Everyone grounds themselves as best as they can, grasping walls as they sway in search for balance. Finally, the rumbling stops and the air is calm again. There’s bound to be an explosion following, leading to casualties that will ultimately become the next spark towards a path Markus really doesn’t want to go down. 

But… there’s not. 

Instead, as everyone rises back up a transparent wave spreads from the source of whatever mystery has landed in the distance. The energy spreads in a perfect radius throughout the city. Along the way, the only after effects Markus can identify are flickering street lights, sparks from power lines and fuse boxes, and flashing headlights from cars that aren’t even cranked on yet. It’s an odd shock-factor he’s never seen before.

The surge has no apparent damaging effects, invisible of any evident harm to Detroit’s citizens as they all recollect themselves again. Digital devices finally calm down from the sporadic burst, operating at normal once again. 

A failed bomb. Did Connor hijack the humans’ intents and inadvertently save Detroit from turning into oblivion in one go? It has to be it; else they’d be burned to ashes now! No human has launched anything _this much_ of a failure since the first android defiance for freedom. Their technology always progresses, not digresses.

_Connor hasn’t abandoned them after all_. 

Markus takes heed to this silent warning: the humans are coming, setting sail to their next move. Maybe having one of their allies on the other side of the line isn’t so bad of a thing, despite how it ended up this way. Working alongside the enemy poses a fate that Connor seemingly can't escape. Markus prays his friend just doesn’t get caught in the act. 

North rushes to Markus' side, gun in hand. "It's time to seal the deal, boss. An eye for an eye."

She's partially right. Of course it’s been too quiet in the city. The humans have waited until the deviants settled. North extends a menacing firearm his way, but when he reaches to accept the weapon, her hand releases and it clatters onto the ground. Hands on each temple, North moans in a short span of agony, falling silent again as she kneels to the ground. 

Markus immediately drops down to meet her. With hands firmly on her shoulders, he takes a stern look into her eyes best he can when she can’t keep a straight gaze. "North! What’s wrong?!" Gasps around them echo the concern, but they dare not step in too close.

"_I.. I can't_..!"

An answer never comes to avail when shortly, the others around them follow, freshly blue-tipped nails dig into their scalps and stain tugged handfuls of hair as they zig zag from one spot of the room to another, desperate for a ledge to grasp. None can speak any _distinguishable _statement. All that comes out of their mouths are cut off phrases and random words: murmured, digital voices that don’t even translate any anything other than ‘_help me_’. 

No one has any idea what’s going on, nor the how’s and why's. All that’s clear is everyone has lost control down to their basic motor skills. 

The overwhelming state reluctantly begins to consume Markus, too. Light headed and disoriented, it’s hard to recall the time or date anymore, hard to remember what he’s even doing here when memory begins to lapse into patches that don’t make sense anymore. Dizziness takes over and the loss of control has him desperately grasping onto everything: tables, chairs, wall corners, anything it takes to maintain enough balance to stagger around the mess of dropped belongings and knocked over fixtures all over the floor. 

That’s when his vision blurs too, filled with red, illegible error messages popping up in every corner of his view. His functions are clearly clashing amongst each other, sending his body into a state of dysfunction. It’s an entire miscommunication of every program he’s made of. Even the automatic recovery program fails to stabilize him when he needs it most. 

Is the whole city experiencing the same thing, at the same time? Markus needs to know, needs to assess what they’re dealing with. The building’s exit is just before him, so he lets himself drop into a crawl. A shard of glass on the floor stabs into his cheek along the way down and despite the chaos going on inside his frazzled body, he can still feel the thirium start its slow roll down his face and drip along the way. 

He’s so close, and yet so far! Why won’t his body just cooperate? 

When he reaches the foyer just before Jericho’s doors, someone from outside opens the door for him. Judging from their steady, controlled stride, they’re not affected by the onslaught scramble disabling everyone else. They’re wearing human-designed combat boots and every step closer leaves blue prints behind. When they stop where Markus lies, 

Finally they stop where he lies helplessly on the floor and Markus flips over onto his back to take a good look at the green military uniformed figure hovering over him. Taking a little extra energy to zoom in on the face of their “guest” (because he wants to be able to identify whose invading Jericho uninvited), he wonders if it’s all just a blurry dream. With eyes fully focused now, the deviant leader gasps as the sight of a familiar friend.

“_Connor_?” Markus finally manages to utter.

Connor lifts a foot and firmly stamps it down on Markus’s wrist as he aims the barrel of a rather menacing gun to his forehead, its laser centered in scary accuracy. His eyes narrow as he twists his boot just enough to pin him down even stronger, filled with the same anger Markus remembers on the field that day they were split. The dagger of grief hasn’t lifted a single bit, and now Connor’s about to do something he’s probably going to regret for the rest of his existence. His next words are cold to the ear, numb to all that's happening all around them, and yet _so_ filled with intent fueled by pure, human emotion.

_"You stole my life from me. Now it’s my turn to return the favor."_


	4. My Friend, My Foe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War is here and now Markus must face a duel he really didn't want. He must fight for his friend and for his people.

It’s finally happening, revenge for the happiness Markus stole from him. The bomb was a success when everyone around him fights just to operate, just to see clearly through the plethora of error messages, save for him, of course. 

Twitching fingers try to grab onto something stable, but can never keep a hold when the disruptive signal coursing through their bodies forces them to let loose again against their will. It doesn’t let them articulate any cries, doesn’t let them walk, much less even just stand. Equivilant to human paralysis, it’s effects are doing exactly what they were programmed for: disability at technology’s best for all of Detroit’s residents.

Markus, though… oh that’s the real deal of this entire invasion. Gun perfectly aimed at his new foe, Connor can’t help but to revel in the satisfaction of watching the man struggle, writhing on the ground, glitch after glitch, for control of his own body. One shot where he lays, and he is dead. No one else in the deviant community will know what to do or where to go without their _all knowing_ _grand leader_. 

Detroit will be easy for human-kind to overcome again.

He yearns for just one more moment of this pitiful show before ending it all, though... It’ll really set in the same desperation Connor was forced into when he witnessed his one and only true mentor lying dead on the ground. The overwhelming flood of regret… _ that’s _what he wants Markus to drown in. So he stomps his wrist harder onto Jericho’s floor and the small grind against blue-stained tile makes a sound sweet to the ear. 

_ Enjoy this while you can _.

Although Connor isn’t sure whether the thought is meant for himself, or for Markus. Maybe both.

It needs a little spice, though, something needs to happen to make things _ even _. Brown eyes scan the floor to see who or what else is nearby. When he spots a familiar auburn braid, Connor scoffs and devious smirk spreads across his face. 

_ Perfect _. 

The two were always a dynamic duo during the evolution. Now they can die together, too. With the sole of his boot keeping Markus firmly down, Connor redirects his gun and takes a wild shot North’s way, not caring what limb the bullet hits. In exchange, North curls further into the ground in uncontrolled agony, another wound to add on top of the internal struggle of programs colliding inside her as well. She doesn’t know what it was like that day, not at all. Infact, she’d encouraged the war from the beginning. 

“North!” Markus barely manages to spit out as he attempts to reach her way with his free arm, weak and shaky in the motion. It doesn’t take long for his body to fail again when his hand involuntarily falls to the ground again. 

The disruptive electronic signal that launched earlier is working well. It’s going just as planned.

_ Disable the deviants. _

_ Locate Markus. _

_ March in for the taking. _

_ Keep a few bodies hostage. _

_ Eliminate the remaining deviant threat. _

The humans should be entering the city by now. With all of Detroit’s androids suffering within their own plastic skin, the soldiers won’t have to mask their presence. It’s child’s play when they can just walk right in without an opposition to defy. Half will be slaughtered, while the other half will be taken captive and put back into motion for what they were meant to be: obedient androids.

But that’s not his part to play in the scheme, so Connor focuses back on his main threat, meeting Markus’ gaze again. “Oh, I’m sorry, it’d be a shame if she died in the middle of the war _ you _started,” he taunts in satire. Flashbacks of Hank’s gray hair and lifeless eyes invade his mind for a split second. He should ignore it, but at the same time, it’s the first thing that ever actually drove him since deviating. So Connor absorbs the image instead, fueling the rage so he doesn’t lose sight of the goal. 

He _ will _avenge his partner’s death! 

Connor takes another blind shot at her, eyes still locked onto Markus. Watching his reaction is gold: the silent gasp, widening eyes as the pop of the gun adds to the chaos of the screams around them inside and out, the little jolts of his body in futile attempts to gain control and escape from entrapment to save his cherished partner. 

Lucky for North - and Markus - the bullet doesn’t actually strike her. It barely misses her head, and the loud clank against an iron pole is harsh to the ears as it releases a blinding spark and ricochet’s back, piercing another innocent bystander’s leg. 

Connor’s grin shifts into a glare. “The next one won’t be so dismissive. Say goodbye to your officer,” he declares, words icy in delivery. Now Markus will know how it felt that day. With the deviant leader pinned under his foot still, he shifts his focus to the woman on the floor, aiming the barrel in accuracy this time. This one won’t miss, and then… _ then _ everything will be in place as it should be.

With a firm finger on the trigger, he pulls it, sending the iron pellet into the air. At any second now, Markus will cry out in horror of his loss, lost in the same grievance that destroys Connor every day. He really shouldn’t spare Markus the relief of the next shot, the one that will unite them again and take the pain of it all away. 

Not a single scream emerges, though. Instead, his gun flies out of his hand and onto the floor. When Connor turns to check what’s happened, a foot jabs into his gut, sending him stumbling back. _ Odd how even an impact like that makes a difference after becoming deviant _. It’s suddenly a lot more unpleasant than he remembers compared to the fist Gavin sent into his stomach at the police station. Connor swiftly regains his balance, though, rising up only to find that Markus has now gained control of himself a lot earlier than expected, standing steadily before him.. 

How could this be?! 

The signal was designed to last for at least an hour at a slow dissipation rate, just fast enough to get them where the humans wanted them! Maybe it’s an adaption in their prototype models. At least it only _ partially _failed when the others around them aren’t off the ground yet. Their spazzing arms aren’t strong enough to pull themselves back up. But that’s okay, it means they have an audience who can also suffer in witnessing their leader’s death. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

They stand, one across from the other in Jericho’s foyer, prepared in defense. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing, Connor!” Markus starts, an attempt to talk out whatever’s going through his friend’s thoughts. Like the weeks before, Markus refuses to lose faith in him, even if they’re destined to brawl. All of this is a mistake, a damned mistake the humans have probably taken advantage of. He motions to the chaos going on around them, continuing his defense. “Look at this place, at all your people, _ our _people. Suffering! And for what?!”

Connor isn’t hesitant to answer, though, staring in conviction as he returns exactly what Markus didn’t want to hear. “An eye for an eye, Markus! You know exactly why we are here!”

He does. But he still has to try. “I don’t want to fight! None of this is what you think it is! The humans have mislead you. _ They’re _ the ones using _ you _!”

“You have no right to make that judgement when _ YOU _ denied my freedom before going to the battlefield! You used my programming to gain techniques for _ YOUR _advantage!”

The answer is harsh to hear, despite that it’s resided in Markus’ heart all along. He’d waited too late to open Connor’s eyes. He forced Connor into a war he wasn’t emotionally prepared for when all he knew was to ‘conquer’. Every day since Connor left Detroit, he’s prayed that Ra9 will forgive his hesitation and that they’ll find their common ground again and work together once more like the strong force they used to be.

“Maybe…” Markus admits, calming his voice in hopes that it’ll sooth his foe, that maybe it’ll convince him that everything has been in good intent. “But I waited for you, to tell you that I’m sorry, Connor. Let’s just talk it out and let go of all this and start over! No more secrets, no more lies.”

Connor offers no response, no confirmation of agreement, and steels himself to the ground, brows furrowed in determination. The resolve to duke it out hasn’t diminished at all. Connor’s still completely blinded by his anger, and he’s not going to go down without a fight. 

Markus has no other choice. 

Both their guns lay on the ground beside him, an easy advantage should he choose to use them. But killing his ex-partner isn’t what he wants, so Markus slides them to the side with his feet, letting them skid against the floor till they’re far away from both their reach: a silent pact that he knows Connor will accept.

Both men stance to spar, awaiting for the first strike. In the first few seconds, neither move, but the next moment, both lunge forward simultaneously, fists colliding in perfect alignment, knuckle to knuckle. The only plastic that breaks is on Markus hand, earning Connor with the first blood. Unfortunately, Connor is at advantage with military gloves, spangled in hard, metal plates underneath thin leather, equipped to break through walls if need be. When Markus leaps back, Connor only continues to fly forward, anxious for the attack. 

Nimble _ and _ armored, Connor is bound to have the upper hand, so Markus will have to be either extremely powerful, or extremely tricky. He takes a firm grip on the edge of a broken table nearby and slings it Connor’s way: whatever he can do that’ll distract more than kill. His friend is in there somewhere, he _ knows _it. He just has break past the rage to reach him! Then not only will Connor’s eyes be opened, but he can learn better how to work around the internal pain that comes along with humanity.

Connor barely manages to catch it, setting his step off, and he tosses it to the side. When continues to step forward, invade Markus’ space closer and closer, Markus notions for the remaining deviants in the room to retract back to the safety of the inner walls of Jericho as well as their functions will allow them. No one else is getting hurt in this inevitable fight.

Gladly, they obey, crawling and clinging to anything they can use to drag themselves away from the scene. 

As the rest flee, Markus and Connor lock hands on each other’s forearms, falling into a grapple . Markus needs to ground him, hold him in a lock where he can actually _ talk some sense _ into his friend other than whatever garbage the humans have fed him. With a swift foot under his leg, he manages to throw Connor off his feet. Markus goes for a pinning move, but Connor’s fast, sporting a nifty kip-up and side swiping Markus’ face with the rubber of his sole along the way as he turns in the air for a spin. 

_ Damn, Connor’s good _. 

Markus takes advantage of the short second of recovery and slides back behind Connor to wrap strong, controlled arms around his torso. The smash of his back against the walls that follows isn’t pleasant, but finally he’s found his back side and holds a strong grip. 

“We don’t…” he starts, a second attempt at a peace treaty between the two.

One smash against the foyer wall.

“...have to…”

Back to the other side.

“... do this…”

Markus’ back will probably bruise now with as many collisions it’s had against the walls. _ Thank God they’re not using guns, or he’d be a goner already _.

Finally Markus finds the strength to flip his friend over, disrupting the tyranny. As he stands over Connor, who’s slowly, but surely recovering from the fall, he realizes he needs to stay on the attack. All considering, as soon as Connor starts to rise back up again, he shoves connor into the door during the split second of distracted advantage in an attempt to get them away from Jericho. 

Connor’s back crashes through Jericho’s double doors, moving their brawl into the streets instead. A glance around tells him that outside is even worse than inside. Human soldiers pick away at the deviant forces slowly but surely. Some dead, some stashed into transport trucks against their will when they can’t even move yet. He wants to chase after them, free them from their cage, but his relentless opponent won’t easily let him pass. 

Luckily, North stumbles outside, now seemingly in control of herself as well as she stands firmly. Slowly, they’re gaining their mobile skills again, limb by limb, function by function. She steps by Markus’ side and glances around jaw dropped in a silent gasp. 

Androids are dragged across the ground. Stains of red and blue litter what used to be beautiful walkways. Screams replace the smiles they once wore, helpless in their attempt to break free from the humans snatching them. And the clean, crisp air clouds up in puffs of gun smoke more and more as murders commence in consequence for less cooperative defiance.

Once her attention turns back to the two, she narrows her eyes Connor’s way, and Markus can _ feel _the heat coming off the sneer of disgust that spreads across her face. If she could spit fire, she’d have the whole town lit by now.

Markus nods towards the trucks preparing to exit. _ Go save them _, he says, and she obeys, running past them, but not forgetting to spit by Connor’s feet and shoot one last glare along her way. 

But he holds no concern over her spite, with nothing more than a short glance in response. 

When North disappears into the distance, the brawl continues as they take turns pounding each other into the ground. Markus has lost track of how many hits they’ve exchanged. With blue-stained faces and clothes, and trails of thirium mapping the trail they’ve taken, it’s a wonder how they’ve dodged the bullets that graze the air. Either could win at this pace, Markus driven by trust and determination to protect his people, Connor driven by anger and revenge for his loss. 

Suddenly, explosions pop at the city border, lighting the sky as the sun sets. But more so, the fireworks destroy the only routes the collection trucks have for escape, sending them into a screeching stop over rough trenches as the wind of the blast puts a rattle to their wheels. 

North promptly rushes to the back of the vehicles, yanking the locked doors open, letting androids come pouring out from the back. It’s their turn to obey and follow her directions to safety when human soldiers flee the driver seats and back across to the other side of the gate, if not already dead. In their capture, they seem to have gained their control back as well and find it easy to sprint away. 

Now that most of them have regained control of themselves, no longer distracted by that invisible, dreaded, disabling signal, the deviants have begun to outnumber the humans. They recollect their weapons and flee to safety per North’s command.

Markus stops to collect himself for a moment, too. The fight has exhausted him more than anticipated. “None of this is what you think it is, Connor!”

“_ You know nothing of what’s to come _,” Connor answers in an icy voice.

For once, Connor stands still, paying attention to Markus’s words, so he takes the opportunity to drill some sense in his head. “And how do you know any of the humans’ plans are right?! Do you even remember what you were fighting for before you let them brainwash you?! How things were before we first took action?!”

“That was before! Things have changed now! Just accept the price of your delusion, Markus, and things will go a lot easier!”

Markus rises tall, proud in his vision for their kind. If only Connor would wake up and see what he does. So he continues. “Maybe for you, but I like being free, and I’m not going to let man-kind control my future!” 

The sneer on Connor’s expression is all too familiar, only amplified in the extremity of his uncontrolled emotion. Not only has the spoken reminder proven a point, but now it’s offended him, too. The struggle to stay in control of his reactions is becoming harder as Markus proves himself right over and over in an attempt to drill some morality back into his friend.

Broken past the point of speech, Connor takes one more lunge forward, knocking Markus off his feet again and he lands on a harsh note, lodged between unidentifiable city debris. His arm is caught underneath a particularly sturdy metal piece bent into the ground, and if he jerks too hard, he’ll lose an entire limb (a rather undesirable disadvantage he really doesn’t want), so Markus watches as Connor confidently slows down his stride, making way to where he struggles to find release.

Along the way, Connor finds an abandoned knife and picks it up. Fairness is no longer a factor in the fight. _ Anything it takes _… it’s the need for a mission kicking back in, the necessity to achieve a goal he always spoke about in Jericho. 

If Markus can’t get free, he’s as good as dead. He tugs, trying to wiggle his arm free, but Connor’s already upon him. When his friend goes for the strike, Markus brings his one loose arm up and takes a hold of Connor’s wrist, using every bit of his strength to stop the blade from piercing. His grip is slipping, bringing the weapon closer to his face. 

Connor’s sleeve rises just enough to reveal an unfamiliar mark on his wrist that definitely wasn’t there before. Both sets of eyes fly to the foreign symbol, Markus’ in wonder, and Connor’s… it’s hard to read his feelings as he jerks out of his grasp defensively, pulling the green material back down before holding the knife back up again, this time at a less menacing distance, maybe even hesitant when he can’t hold the blade still in the midst of shaky breath. 

“They’re researching how to reprogram me, how to take the pain away and all that Ra9 bullshit, and when they figure it out, they'll reset all of you, too!” Although judging by the stutter, he doesn’t sound as sure as before, a hint of regret mixed in with conviction.

This is the prime opportunity to strike Connor where it hurts the most. He keeps his tone calm, just the way he needs his friend to be. “Is this what Hank would have wanted? Was he the kind of man who sought revenge? Begged for androids to be exploited for his own good? What would he say if he saw you like this?”

Connor’s expression relaxes into something less aggressive and for once, his attention focuses on Markus’ words rather than the drive to kill. Otherwise he’d be on the attack while at the high point of advantage. Markus is easily dead in one motion, but Connor hasn’t taken it yet. 

“I know Carl wouldn’t like it if I went down that path. I had a human mentor too, y’know. An old man that loved nothing more than to paint. Died over some stupid fight his biological son picked for drug money. _ For drug money _ . Do you really think that was a better way to go? Everything I do, I do for him, because he would have wanted me to _ live _freely, like him. Android or not, I was a son to him, just like you are in Hank’s eyes.”

Connor’s grip on the knife loosens in his fruitless effort to respond. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“And honestly, I’m pretty sure Hank just wanted you to live too. What if he came to the field to warn you? Save you from the slavery that’s bound to come from all this? Not everything has to have a _ mission _. If you do what the humans say, let yourself get reset, is that really living the dream he had for you? Or is it just obedience to another officer?

Only a few soldiers remain on Detroit grounds, huddled behind damaged shields. In front of them is Perkins in the same green, brown and black uniform as Connor and the rest of the human army, but without a firearm. They’d be dumb to shoot now when the deviant forces have regained control and surrounded them. There’s a plot at bay, Markus can sense it, and Connor’s already given the first clue. 

“What are you doing Connor!” the man shouts from across. “You know what the deal was! _ Finish it off _.

Markus’ gaze meet’s Connor’s with a stare that begs for answers to the mystery that’s just opened. “A deal? What deal is he talking about?” 

But Perkins won’t tolerate the interruption, cutting in before Connor can conjure an explanation. “Don’t let that deviant talk you out of it. He’s just doing it to lower your guard. Now _ kill him _.

The knife drops out of Connor’s hand and the clank of defeat echoes into the air. “_ N-no… _ ” he stammers in a whisper as his brown eyes roam the surroundings, avoiding contact with any deviant or human alike. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking or plotting next when he can’t meet anyone’s demanding, accusing, _ piercing _stares stares shooting his way, a collision of potentially distrust and doubt all around. 

The human leader speaks for him when Connor doesn’t budge from where he stands with a head hung low and eyes to the ground. “You’ve made your choice, then. You could have had anything you wanted, but I suppose it’s most regrettable that you’ll die with them instead. Thank you for your service.” 

The remaining army retreats upon Perkin’s command, carrying their wounded along. It’d be easy to ambush them while they’re weak, follow the trail of dotted streaks of blood and eliminate them for good before they can return in revived energy, but after today’s demonstration, it’s certainly not the way to go when connor stands, humble once more to his people. 

Before either deviant can speak, North appears behind Connor with a scowl on her face and a rather hefty looking rod tightly in her grip. She bends her knees, rearing it back. Markus shakes his head, but it’s a small hint North won’t listen to. In one bold swing, the strike nails Connor in the head, knocking their android assailant unconscious.

  
  



End file.
